Riptide in Eight Acts
by Stormkpr
Summary: Azazel/Riptide slash. Riptide's life, summarized in eight acts. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Riptide - In Eight Acts**

_Warning: There is no overt PWP in this fic but there are several erotic/adult-themed situations here, so if this is not your thing then please do not read. _

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><p><strong>Act One<strong>

His story began in a tiny village in Latin America, its young inhabitants leaving for the cities in droves, in the hopes of finding better jobs and better lives. The local school didn't go any higher than the equivalent of eight grade and the teacher, rarely in receipt of his salary, showed up less often. Skinny dogs roamed the mud roads near the shacks where people lived.

Janos had been planning to leave, following in his older brother's footsteps. His father was dead-set against it, demanding that the rest of his children remain here, as long as his eldest continued to send money home each month.

He was forced out soon enough. A neighbor discovered Janos and the other boy. His enraged father beat Janos bloody, telling him that he already had three daughters and ordering him never to return.

A sympathetic Aunt found enough money for Janos's bus fair to the city – Tia Dolores had always been the only one to show him love and tenderness since his mother's death. His elder brother, though, had been warned and would have nothing to do with Janos. Janos became familiar with sleeping on sidewalks, wearing the same dirty shirt and having the same stale taste in his mouth. Hatred and bitterness lodged inside of him, finding the permanent home that Janos himself lacked.

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><p><strong>Act Two<strong>

It all changed the night that the three men attacked him. It wasn't clear what they wanted from the filthy teenager who clearly didn't have money to buy a bottle of Coke. But they dragged him into the alley and began to beat him.

A force surged inside Janos. A tremendous wave swelled up, suggesting great power and commanding him to use his hands. He felt somehow filled with wind and water – filled with **majesty**, if that wasn't a crazy idea for a homeless street kid. In an instant, he knew what to do and he channeled this urgent energy. His would-be attackers were swept away, along with the debris littering the alley.

For the first time in his life, Riptide felt power. He would never be beaten bloody again. Power wasn't the only sensation he experienced that day; he felt fear and guilt too because he correctly surmised that his attackers were killed in the groundswell, and that wasn't what he had intended. But mostly he felt triumph, an addictive sensation he had never experienced before.

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><p><strong>Act Three<strong>

Sebastian Shaw found him. By then, Riptide had built up a somewhat comfortable financial position, but he knew he was vulnerable too. He couldn't always control these strange powers, and the authorities were after him. Riptide never actually wanted to be alone, but his circumstances didn't exactly allow him to create lasting friendships. He couldn't stay in one place for too long, fearful of being caught.

And Shaw's pitch made sense. Power and money. The world that had abused him down on its knees. The safety of a group. Riptide did not even have to think about his response.

The only downside would be having to follow Shaw's orders, but he wouldn't realize the full ramifications of that until much later.

It wasn't bad, at first, though it wasn't great either. Working on Shaw's team was a definite mixed bag. Shaw worked his people hard and they were often on the move whereas Riptide wanted a home. He delighted when Shaw bought a submarine which became their permanent base. The wind and the sea were Riptide's allies. Shaw could be difficult and demanding, but he also left Riptide alone when he didn't need him. Shaw trained Riptide to master his powers, and he still felt that surge of pride and power every time he used them successfully. He enjoyed observing Shaw's growing respect for his powers. Of course, Shaw was fairly stingy with compensation, but Riptide's bank accounts steadily grew anyway. Riptide's English wasn't perfect, but he spoke and understood enough and his command of the language improved at the slow and steady pace of his increasing wealth.

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><p><strong>Act Four<strong>

"We have a new associate," Shaw announced one day. At that point, the only other members of the team had been Emma and a man who went by the name Dread. There had been two others when Riptide had joined a couple of years ago, but one had been killed and the other disappeared.

"Azazel," Shaw gave the name of the new man, who stood next to him. "You will see a demonstration of his powers at training today."

"Fucking demon freak," muttered Dread as he surveyed Azazel's appearance.

Azazel did not take kindly to the insult. "You want to fight me?" he asked. His English was heavily accented - Russian or some other Eastern European, Riptide guessed.

"With pleasure," Dread answered; he always wanted a fight.

Dread was a powerful mutant and not easily defeated, but he was no match for Azazel. Azazel used his sword with considerable skill and agility. He was swift and deliberate, and fiercely strong. Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, Azazel was holding back. He would not demonstrate his teleportation abilities until later.

Riptide stood back and watched the fight, though it didn't last long due to Azazel's far superior skills. Riptide admired the way Azazel wielded his sword, and it got him quite excited. But the admiration and lust he experienced watching the fight were not his predominant emotions.

**Recognition**. That was what was on his mind as he watched Azazel. The sensation kept flashing across his neurons: me. He is similar to me. The phrase "my other half" slid into his mind, the notion that they were two sides of the same coin. It wasn't logical, not at all, but emotions meant just as much to Riptide as logic, if not more.

This feeling of recognition had never happened to Riptide before. He had plenty of experience with sex, plenty of meaningless trysts. It had always been a wondrous, though brief, release despite the fact that his lust for men had cost him his family years ago.

Riptide hardly ate the next few days, and could not sleep no matter what. His forehead was slightly hot, his stomach unsettled and each time he looked at Azazel, quickly averting his gaze lest it be noticed, the feelings grew more intense.

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><p><strong>Act Five<strong>

He hadn't been aware that the attraction was mutual.

For the first few days, they barely spoke. At Shaw's command, they fought – he required all of his men to battle each other for practice. Azazel won the first round, which wasn't a surprise; the man clearly had expensive experience, although Riptide held his own. At the conclusion, Azazel offered Riptide a handshake and commended him for a good fight. None of Shaw's people had offered such a gallant gesture.

"Thank you," had been all that Riptide was able to offer, since the experience of fighting this man and now the touch of his hand were almost too much to bear.

They exchanged a few words during the next several days, Riptide now silently wishing that his own accent was not so strong. In a band of men such as Shaw's, several unwritten rules exist, one of them being that you don't inquire about the pasts of the others. But Azazel asked Riptide where he was from, and Riptide didn't hesitate to give him a little bit of information, mostly because he desperately hoped to learn more about Azazel. He wanted to maintain eye contact when he spoke to Azazel and fought hard to do so, but knew that he'd spent most of their conversation looking down at his hands. As a distraction, he created a small gust of wind and played with it as they spoke. He didn't notice Emma walking by with a raised eyebrow, or Emma's split-second of eye contact with Azazel.

The knock came on Riptide's door that night. He hadn't been asleep, almost having resigned himself to another sleepless night, and the first time he heard the knock he didn't believe his ears. Then the knock sounded once more.

He opened the door and stepped back to let Azazel in, blinking several times.

"Your clothes - off," Azazel ordered. "All of them. I want to see you."

Riptide scrambled to comply. He wanted it badly, although he simultaneously feared what this man who looked like a demon might do.

"You like what you see?" Riptide asked bravely, when his clothes were a pile on the floor.

"Beautiful," Azazel murmured, though Riptide didn't know it at the moment because Azazel said the word in Russian.

Riptide's fears about coupling with a man who looked like a demon had been unfounded, and he learned that that a sword was not the only thing Azazel could wield with skill. Afterwards, Azazel seemed pleased at Riptide's enjoyment, casually playing with the thick hair on Riptide's chest and chuckling, "I am older man. I know what I am doing, yes?"

So the attraction was mutual. But what about this feeling of recognition, this sense of being one? Riptide knew a lot about sex but not much about love.

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><p><strong>Act Six<strong>

Riptide was lost in Eros' grip. He didn't want to leave his tiny cabin, not when Azazel was inside of it. All during the day he was at work doing Shaw's bidding, but Riptide would replay fragments of the previous night, over and over. He could think of almost nothing else, and he had to fight to be be the confident, focused man who Shaw expected.

The kisses. None of his previous lovers had been much for mouths, for the work of lips and tongue against lips and tongue. Azazel didn't linger overlong on it, but he kissed like he meant it.

Tracing his fingers along Azazel's body. His mutation was beautiful to Riptide. The colors, the thrill of the deep red skin and hair blacker than Riptide's. The colors spoke of passion. Seeing Azazel respond to the touches of his hands thrilled Riptide as well.

Azazel beckoning Riptide towards the bed, having the younger man lay on his back. Riptide nearly howling with pleasure at the work of his lover's lips and tongue on other parts of his body.

Azazel kissing him passionately again, while using his tail to snake around and open a container of lubricant. Azazel murmuring, "Turn over". More kisses, and a slick tail gently stroking and then pressing against Riptide's opening, in preparation. The tail continuing to massage and stroke the area, Azazel taking it so slow and so gentle that Riptide wondered if he ever was going to enter. The craving making him mindless until Azazel finally, finally flicked his tail away and entered.

All rational thought gone, Riptide pushing back against Azazel. That tail again, coming around front and encircling Riptide's hardness. Pumping it fiercely in time with Azazel's own thrusts inside, the two men lost in an animal rhythm, groaning and grunting, seeing who would break first.

Riptide counted the hours until night, wanting the day to be finished as soon as possible so that Azazel would come to his room.

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><p><strong>Act Seven<strong>

Riptide had lived so much of his life in fear. Fear of his father, getting caught when he lived on the streets, fear that someone would track down Shaw and his team. Now that he had Azazel, he felt more confident, more brave. His whirlwind life began to contain a measure of stability.

But Shaw's pitch no longer made as much sense as it once did. Do this many people need to die?, Riptide wondered. He had thought that they would just make some money and harm only those who stood in their way. Annihilating most of humanity seemed a bit like overkill, and the potential for something going hideously wrong was huge.

Riptide made the mistake of uttering one or two of these thoughts aloud. Emma was just out of earshot, but of course the telepath didn't need to use her ears to pick up his words and report them.

Shaw conveniently selected a time when Azazel was out on a mission. He called the rest of the team together: Emma, Dread, and another man who – like Dread - would soon be killed in one of Shaw's schemes.

Shaw recited Riptide's complaints.

"Sir, please, you not understand," Riptide began in defense, knowing he was in danger but even then not fully realizing how horrendous it would be. "I never question you. I believe in you."

"Don't lie to me," Shaw said. "Remember who trained you. I expect and require utter obedience, and when I don't receive it, there is always a price to pay. Always." Shaw paused and then continued, speaking slowly, "Once you speak ill of me, you simply won't speak again."

Out of the corner of his eye, Riptide saw Emma hand Shaw something. He saw the glint of metal.

Shaw turned to Dread and ordered, "Hold his mouth open."

Riptide struggled against Dread but the other mutant was too strong and Riptide wasn't given even a second or two to muster his powers. His eyes were wild and terrified as Shaw approached and deftly sliced most of Riptide's tongue off. Shaw dropped the severed flesh onto the floor, which Riptide fleetingly thought resembled a slice of fruit.

The shock wore off in an instant, and then Riptide's universe became nothing but blood and pain. The red liquid spurted out of him as he sank to his knees in agony. He rocked back and forth. His vision clouded over but not before he glimpsed the small fleshy mass on the floor next to him.

Somehow Azazel was there. Later he would learn that Emma mercifully had called him back from his mission. Cursing in Russian, Azazel teleported away to return a second later with someone he knew who had medical experience. The bleeding was staunched and numerous painkillers were procured.

Riptide spent the next several days in a drugged haze. Azazel would pop into his room at intervals, saying, "It is time for your next one," as he fed him the medication. Swallowing a pill – or anything - was difficult now.

When the pain began to numb on its own, Riptide had to learn to adjust. The humiliation and fear whenever he saw Shaw were nearly unbearable at first. The image of his severed tongue on the ground would terrorize him anytime he closed his eyes.

And he had practical matters to deal with as well. Learning how to eat without a tongue – and while feeling so utterly sick all over – was difficult, and his weight dropped. Azazel returned early from the next mission Shaw had sent him on to keep him away, and he brought with him cans of soup, jars of applesauce, and a large bag of oats.

"I will stay here until you finish half," Azazel said, thrusting the bowl at him. He didn't move until Riptide lifted the spoon and forced it down, despite the sickening feeling inside his mouth, despite having no appetite.

Verbal communication was now lost to him. Riptide had always been quiet, but he had needed speech as much as the next person. He now wished that his written English was as good as his spoken English.

Days passed and the pain began to dissipate; he didn't need to take such strong painkillers as often. Riptide's mind began to clear, and the next thing he did was fight to keep the one thing he could not bear to lose. He knocked on Azazel's door that night.

"Three more hours until next pill," Azazel said, ushering him inside the cabin. "You must wait – a more high dose will cause more harm than good."

As Azazel spoke, Riptide began undressing. He did not feel sexual desire – it would be a few more weeks yet before his body overall felt well enough to desire food or sex – but he certainly didn't want to deprive Azazel.

A more gentle type might quietly reassure Riptide that he could wait, but Azazel was not going to turn away what was offered to him. Riptide would look back weeks later and marvel over the fact that it had not been awkward at all. Azazel kissed him – not on his mouth but elsewhere – and later on they would just reinvent the way they kissed. The touches of their hands had the same electric effect on each other as always. Orgasm would not be a problem either; Azazel's preferences had always been along the lines of penetration rather than receiving oral. Riptide couldn't quite take his pleasure that first time after the assault, but Azazel's touching helped heal him and eventually he would take the same enjoyment in this again too.

Both men took to carrying a notepad and pen around with them, and Riptide's written English would improve rapidly.

* * *

><p><strong>Act Eight<strong>

Riptide never forgot that flash of recognition that first time he saw Azazel, as if he had met the other side of his coin. Although that sensation was instantaneous, determining what Azazel's feelings were became a process that unfolded much more slowly.

"I can teleport us somewhere he can't find us," Azazel whispered one day, when Shaw and Emma were both far away and on an engrossing mission. "I have some ideas that I think will work. Do you want that?"

Riptide's hands shook as he wrote his response. "Anywhere! Do not care where as long as you are there too".

It would be dangerous. Shaw and Emma were so powerful that no matter where they went, there would always be a chance that they would be found. What would Shaw do next?

Their plans were in the works, and then Magneto happened. Shaw was dead, something Riptide had thought would never happen. He couldn't believe it when he saw Magneto holding aloft the corpse of their former leader.

Shortly afterwards, Riptide scribbled a note to Azazel. "What do you want to do now that our leader is Magneto? Stay with Magneto's team or leave?"

Azazel was quiet for a moment and then said almost exactly what Riptide had written in his note earlier. "Either one. As long as it's with you."

**THE END**

**Author's Notes:**

Feedback is always appreciated.

Also, a word on Azazel. I understand that comic-version-Azazel is some sort of demon who has been around forever. What about movie-verse? Maybe so, maybe not; we don't really get enough of movie-Azazel to know if they are following comic canon or not, and we all know that the movies rarely do so. I think it's equally possible that movie-Azazel, like Nightcrawler, is simply a mutant who looks like a demon.


	2. Soft and Hard  Addendum to Act Seven

**Soft and Hard**

**Author's Note:** This is an addendum, taking place after Act Seven. "Riptide in Eight Acts" is told from Riptide's perspective but this portion is told from Azazel's. As with the rest of this fic, it is intended for an adult audience.

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><p>"Three more hours until next pill," Azazel said, ushering Riptide inside the dark cabin. "You must wait – a more high dose will cause more harm than good."<p>

Azazel's voice sounded much as it had ever since the day Shaw had cut out Riptide's tongue. The voice was harsh, as if Azazel were barking out life-saving orders. Indeed it had been Azazel's actions since then which had kept Riptide from bleeding too much; it had been Azazel's actions which had ensured that Riptide continued to eat so that his body received the nutrients it needed.

But as Azazel gruffly spoke his orders, Riptide began matter-of-factly undressing.

Azazel's eyes grew wide and he fought to keep his heartbeat steady. Riptide could not possibly want this. His body was still **sick**, still recovering from the repulsive act of violence. As Azazel watched Riptide's layers of clothing drop to the floor, the older man began to understand. Riptide certainly didn't want sex now, but he knew how much Azazel desired it. Azazel might be – as he had once chuckled with Riptide soon after they had become lovers – "older man", but his drive always matched that of Riptide or any other man in his twenties.

'Is it because I have taken care of him since that bastard Shaw did this, that he is here to repay me?' Azazel wondered, just as another thought flirted with him. `Or is it that he fears losing me?'

Azazel's sense of morality could not be termed one of his stronger suits. Still, he had an inkling that another man might have protested, might have assured Riptide that he didn't need to do this, that his lover could wait, that he should return to his room and rest until he could take another painkiller.

Azazel was not that man. Already he feared that he had revealed too much, allowed himself to become too vulnerable. Was it not obvious to both men in this room and the rest of the Hellfire Club? They all saw how Azazel ministered to Riptide after the violence. They all saw him teleporting back and forth with a medic, with painkillers, with the soups and oatmeal that could be ingested by someone who no longer had a tongue. Azazel had tried to mask his feelings with unreadable eyes, with an off-hand comment or two about how the Hellfire Club needed strong members in order to crush the humans, adding that so many of their former members hadn't worked out.

How long before Shaw attacked Azazel for getting attached to another human being, let alone one who had questioned Shaw's orders? Azazel was not about to be soft now.

"That is nice," Azazel finally spoke, eyeing Riptide. He spent an instant thinking back to their first night together. Azazel had knocked twice on his door, had been allowed in, had given another order: 'Your clothes – off. All of them.' And Azazel once again questioned himself. Perhaps he didn't want to appear weak and vulnerable, didn't want to be a sap who followed his heart - but Riptide didn't need to be appraised like a piece of meat tonight either.

"Come here," Azazel gestured, pulling his lover towards him. He held him close, wrapping his arms around Riptide's warm body. Riptide returned the embrace. He brought his mouth to the side of Riptide's face and kissed along his jaw line, up to his ear which he gently tongued. He brought his mouth back down and kissed Riptide's neck. As always, the younger man's skin was impeccably clean and smelled faintly of soap. Azazel had to stop and listen more intently to his senses in order to pick up Riptide's more subtle scents.

He couldn't bring himself to kiss Riptide's mouth. Maybe someday later, but not now. He would not plunge his tongue inside there and risk feeling the jagged nub that was left behind, although he silently chided himself and felt that he should be able to handle it. He had encountered much worse in his lifetime. Azazel moved his mouth up and kissed Riptide's eyelids - exquisitely gentle, feather-light kisses. His tail lightly stroked Riptide's back and shoulders as Azazel began to murmur, "It is going to be alright. You will see. I have survived horrible things too. We mutants are strong."

Riptide nodded and reached up to squeeze one of Azazel's shoulders. He had done this before since the incident; Azazel translated it to mean roughly, 'I understand' or 'I'm with you.'

Azazel placed a few more kisses along Riptide's face and then stepped back. Efficiently and quietly, he removed his own clothing. He then gestured towards the bed. Riptide sat upon it and Azazel, kneeling in front of him, began to knead his calves and thighs. "I still want you," he murmured. Part of him wanted to curse himself – did he really need to state the obvious? He wasn't sure how much reassurance Riptide needed but told himself that the younger man must require some or he wouldn't be here. He placed kisses along Riptide's legs as his tail played with the curly hairs. "I never like oral thing myself, you know that," Azazel continued. "Giving it to you, yes, that I like – but I don't need it on me." They had discussed it once, long before Shaw had mutilated Riptide. Azazel had remarked that he knew this must be odd, the fact that receiving oral sex did nothing for him. Riptide had shrugged and said that he had been with many men and had seen this once or twice before, that each man had his own likes and dislikes.

That night, Riptide apparently was happy to let Azazel take the lead, as was usually the case for them in the bedroom. He stroked Azazel's hair leisurely and occasionally emitted a soft moan. Azazel continued to kiss and stroke Riptide's body. He nuzzled and kissed Riptide's belly, noting that the younger man would need to eat more; he had clearly lost weight since the assault despite Azazel's best efforts to keep him well-fed.

Azazel dipped his head back down and worked his lips and tongue on Riptide. Riptide let out a few groans but this time they were clearly groans of frustration. Azazel had observed that Riptide had not gotten hard once since he had entered the room and removed his clothing. This was unlike any of their other encounters previously; both men had always been instantly randy almost as soon as the door was closed. That night, Azazel continued to work his mouth on Riptide, taking his time and not rushing, but it was to no avail. Riptide gave one final groan of frustration and gently nudged Azazel's head away.

"It is alright. You are still healing. It will take time. Soon you will feel it again; you will be hard just like before. Time heals all wounds, as they say."

Riptide listened to Azazel's words, meeting his gaze, and then nodded. He reached for the jar of lubricant on Azazel's nightstand and shifted position, turning onto his stomach, offering himself to his lover. Azazel took a moment and looked at the site in front of him, not knowing that he himself resembled an animal confronted with a tantalizing dinner. He ran a hand along Riptide's smooth buttocks. Azazel again fleetingly wondered if he should decline, but knew he just could not. He had started to harden as soon as Riptide's clothing had come off; he had been hot as a skillet. He needed this release.

But he would do it gently. As his tail dipped into the jar and began to prepare Riptide, Azazel caressed his back and shoulders, laying a few kisses on the back of his neck. Riptide turned his head so Azazel could kiss more of his face. One of his hands moved to stroke Riptide's hair. "Such beautiful hair," he whispered as his tail felt a certain resistance gradually give way. Riptide made a quick gesture with his hand which could only mean 'move forward', and Azazel did.

Azazel liked this best of all. The animal instinct he had always had, to thrust, to obey this need of his body's. To get so lost in the pleasure that he need not think of anything else, to feel like a king. Once or twice his tail gingerly snaked around front to see if Riptide had hardened, but he had not. Disappointed as he was over that, Azazel continued to thrust forward making the bedsprings creak, a sound which had always delighted him, had always made him think of his favorite thing. He leaned into Riptide and moved a little faster. He grunted and groaned. When his release came, the pleasure was intense, blocking out all his worries about their future, about appearing weak, about what Shaw might do next.

Azazel reached for towels to clean both men. "Again, tomorrow," he said, and then truly wished he did not sound so much like a drill sergeant. "If you wish it," he amended, making his voice softer. "Maybe then your body feels better. We try again."

Riptide vigorously nodded and moved closer to Azazel. He put his arms around the Russian, and nuzzled his face against his, rubbing the tip of his nose against Azazel's. Azazel found this gesture somehow extremely intimate, for a moment thinking it was better than the wetness of a tongue. It was amazing what the body and the mind could do; amazing how they could recover from the unthinkable.

He mutely watched Riptide dress, wishing they shared a room instead of maintaining separate ones. Even as he silently chastised himself for wanting it, he knew that someday the two men would fall asleep together, warm sweaty bodies mingling under the blankets and succumbing to slumber.

* * *

><p>The next night Riptide knocked on Azazel's door again. Azazel had watched him closely during the day, as closely as he felt was possible without attracting undue attention from the other members of the Hellfire Club. He had observed Riptide eat, had trained with him, and even found an excuse to teleport to the surface of the yacht when Shaw and Emma had required Riptide's presence above-deck. From the moments Azazel had spent observing, he saw that Shaw and Emma had regarded Riptide coolly, had given him various orders, but had not taken any aggressive actions against him or thrown any sour looks his way - which truly was a good sign.<p>

That evening, Riptide again began to wordlessly undress as soon as the door to Azazel's cabin was closed. His body was illuminated by the dim lamp on Azazel's nightstand.

"You look good," Azazel said as he watched his lover shed his clothing. Riptide's strong, broad shoulders and muscular arms always aroused him. "You eat well today. More color on you too."

Azazel once again silently chided himself for sounding like an idiot. Riptide's complexion was not that different than usual. For a few days after the assault, Riptide's pallor had varied between unduly pale and slightly pink, but he was back to his usual skin tone now, which made sense given his time in the sun today.

"You train well today too," Azazel added quickly, although he had already given him that feedback during their session earlier. With that comment, Azazel vowed to let his body do the talking from here on out. It was embarrassing enough that the entire Hellfire Club could discern his feelings for Riptide but there was no need to make it even more obvious. It was bad enough that Azazel had spent all day hoping that Riptide would knock on his door again, hoping so fervently that he had almost wanted to pray to a god he didn't believe in. For a moment he wanted to return to his life before when he had lived only in the moment and hadn't spent much time contemplating the future.

Riptide nodded and reached for the pad of paper and pen that Azazel had left on the nightstand. He wrote rapidly, and his printing was neat. The letters were small. "Thank you for taking care of me. I feel better."

Azazel read the words and nodded. He had to give Riptide points for bravery. The man was naked and vulnerable, and he was writing a note to his male lover to thank him for taking care of him, knowing that if Azazel hadn't done so, Riptide would likely be dead now.

Azazel took a step closer to Riptide and his tail reached around and up Riptide's body, slowly caressing legs, backside, and shoulders. While his tail did the touching, Azazel stood placidly and looked at Riptide's eyes. Riptide met his gaze steadily. The past few days Riptide's face had shown mostly pain and fear, yellowed by humiliation. Today his look was one of determination tinged with acceptance.

Azazel liked that look of determination. His tail ceased its exploration of Riptide's shoulders, and Azazel again moved closer, this time grasping the sides of Riptide's face with his hands. He brought his lips to Riptide's and moved his against the others. He didn't insert his tongue – Azazel didn't know if he ever would want to again – but he licked Riptide's lips and again crushed his mouth against the other man's. For an instant, Riptide made a slight gesture as if wanted to step backwards – Azazel was so intense - but he held his ground.

"Very nice," Azazel finally said, after sucking on Riptide's lips for a bit more. He then gently slapped Riptide's rear and stepped back so he could begin to undress himself.

When Azazel finished removing his clothing, he took another look at Riptide's body and smiled. He saw something he liked and nodded approvingly.

"On bed," he gestured.

Riptide sauntered to the bed and lay on his back. The younger man reached his own hand downwards to give himself a few quick strokes. Somewhere between Azazel's kisses and undressing, Riptide had slightly hardened, which had certainly not gone unnoticed.

This time Azazel attacked his target quickly and without preamble, disregarding the slight start Riptide gave in surprise. Azazel positioned himself so that he could reach for Riptide's hardness, and he immediately got his hands, lips, tongue, and throat to work.

This was good, mused Azazel as the minutes progressed. The worries he had experienced lately of being too gentle, too vulnerable, were hard to deal with. But moving aggressively, quickly, strongly on his lover was balm to his soul. And besides, Riptide had always seemed to like that. Azazel brought Riptide to a climax passionately but efficiently. Azazel always told himself that he wasn't a queer but, oddly enough, he prided himself on being able to stay on his lover as the climax was reached and Riptide released deep into his throat. Riptide moaned, the strained sounds of a man who could no longer form words - yet Azazel didn't find the noises disquieting. Without giving Riptide more than a moment to rest, Azazel was using his tail to procure the lubricant and beginning to rearrange Riptide's body, this time keeping him on his back but hefting his legs upwards. The only words he spoke were a triumphant, "I told you that you would like this again, and I see I was right." Azazel got into position, letting Riptide rest his legs on Azazel's shoulders. As he always did, Azazel ensured that the other man was ready before he entered him, but once inside he did not move slowly. He murmured words in Russian; this time they were dirty words and he wasn't sure if Riptide knew them or not but suspected that he did. He murmured that he liked Riptide's tight hole, that he liked fucking him, that he knew Riptide loved every second of what his big dick did to him. Riptide's legs were firm, strong, but also damp and sweaty. One of them rubbed against the side of Azazel's face, the other Azazel held back with a hand. Azazel's head started to swell and spin with the feeling of victory. His lover was well enough to enjoy sex again! And here Azazel was, once again riding him, being the man in bed as he always was. He gritted his teeth, contorted his face, and released himself inside his lover.

When finished, Azazel rolled onto his side, breathing heavily. The room was small and the bed was crammed against a wall. Azazel lay on the side against the wall so that Riptide could leave.

But Riptide stayed. His hands started to touch Azazel, fingertips gently running against Azazel's shoulder, his scarred chest, his abdomen. Riptide looked comfortable, and Azazel felt his heart jump at the realization of how much Riptide's being content thrilled him.

Azazel reached for Riptide's roaming hand and kissed it. With that gesture, he suspected once again that he was a goner. Once again he berated himself for getting attached to this – to any - person.

Riptide then reached for the paper and quickly wrote a question. "Do you want me to get you a drink?" He glanced at the tumbler and bottles across the dim room.

"No," Azazel responded. Earlier he had observed that Riptide appeared to have accepted his fate. Azazel wondered if he could do the same, and decided that perhaps he could. He reached his arms and pulled Riptide closer to him, their damp bodies enmeshed together. "Stay here."

Riptide nuzzled his face against Azazel's and began to drift off to sleep. After some tossing and turning, Azazel was able to do the same.

**THE END**


End file.
